


(I'll Follow You) Until You Love Me

by orphan_account



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Stalking, abhorrent admirer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Descole's bizarre fixation on Layton isn't rooted in intellectual rivalry alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ab2fsycho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/gifts).



Descole's involvement in the affair at Misthallery was strange enough, but his prior knowledge of Layton was what stuck the group as oddest of all. Emmy bombarded him with questions as they waited for Luke and his parents to arrive. 

"But he seemed like he knew you!" Emmy insisted. 

Layton sighed, trying not to lose his patience with the girl. "I told you, Emmy; I have never seen the man before in my life."

Emmy wasn't pleased, but her further questions were cut short when Luke came hurtling toward them. Layton was a gentleman and so reserved by nature. He didn't touch others unless it was absolutely necessary, but he found himself thankful for Luke's exuberant hug. He ignored Emmy's glares (which Luke seemed entirely oblivious to) in favour of paying full attention to the child's chatter and the (surprisingly difficult) puzzle Luke had thought up on his ride to meet them.

Emmy didn't forget, much to Layton's chagrin.

"Have you given anymore thought about Descole?" she'd ask. They'd been back in London for a week, and as far as Layton could tell this was the longest Emmy's intellectual refactory period had taken. 

Luke was seated across from her, next to Layton, small feet kicking back and forth on the sofa. He had been working on a puzzle before Emmy interrupted his thought process. Mouth full of tea that was probably a tich too bitter for his taste (but that he was insisting on finishing, because that was just what a gentleman did), Luke looked up to his mentor with raised eyebrows. He tried to swallow, but began choking. Emmy lunged forward to steady the cup and saucer in his hand; Layton patted him firmly on the back. 

Odd. They acted like a family unit. Layton hadn't thought he'd miss having people to rely on again, having people rely on him.

"Are you all right, my boy?"

"Yeah," Luke choked out. "I just wanted ter ask, wot did Emmy mean 'bout Descole?"

The Professor sighed, fighting the urge to pull the brim of his hat down over his eyes. Rebuffing Emmy where this point was concerned was difficult enough, but Luke had become his protege for a reason. If the boy was even half as stubborn as his father, he would find the answer out for himself without Layton's knowledge, help, or consent.

Emmy answered for him. "Descole - after his machine collapsed but before he disappeared and all - didn't he just seem to know the Professor?"

Luke concentrated, eyebrows furrowing. "Well," he began. "It did seem that way - but the Professor's famous," his cheeks coloured. "Maybe Descole's just a fan. You know, of archaeology or something."

Layton smiled warmly, avoiding Emmy's eyes. "I'm sure that's correct, Luke, my boy. Now, would you like a hint? I can give you three..."

Emmy huffed and pouted, but left the issue alone for the time being.

Emmy wasn't the only one apparently perseverating on the issue. Despite the relative lack of activity in the world of adventure, Layton did find himself on the receiving end of some admiration. The sender most likely meant to keep his identity a secret, but Descole was so awkward and clumsy with his attempts at affection that even the first puzzle he sent simply reeked of desperation. The answer, in fact, seemed a random jumble of letters until Luke pointed out it was a cryptogram. Emmy solved it out loud, if only to rub its message in the Professor's face: "Remember me."

Luke was only eleven then, his mind a sponge but distracted easily by nearly all of his surroundings. He couldn't remember their discussion from several weeks ago, cupping his chin with his pointer finger and thumb in thought. "But how do we figure out who it is if you can't remember them? That clue's hardly helful!"

Emmy opened her mouth to reply, but Layton cut her off. "Yes, it is quite the mystery."

The puzzles didn't stop there, and Descole's - or should he call the man Jean now? - attempts at flirtation only got stranger and more obvious. Somewhere along the line, the puzzles and riddles desolved into telegrams and little gifts. Not the ordinary kind - when he and Claire were together, he sent her flowers and chocolate; she, in return, would present him with boxes of tea or biscuits. Descole's gits were...akin to the dead mice and rats cats would bring their human charges. In fact, one of the little presents was a dead bird - not a real one, thank the lord. It was a small toy, burnt to a crisp, but it looked well enough like an actual bird that poor Luke teared up upon seeing the thing.

"Calm down, Luke; it's only a toy," Layton comforted. 

"But still! That's s-so disturbing!"

Layton had to agree. Clearly, Descole had a mind to impress his rival. Unfortunately, his would-be suitor only left Layton with a feeling of mixed exasperation and confusion.

Eventually, Descole started to actually show up. Not at the office, or even on university grounds. But whenever Layton was asked to help solve some mystery, some grand puzzle, chances were good that Descole would be there in the background or somehow involved. Very rarely, he was the main issue. He seemed more content to watch the proceedings, like an innocent voyeur. 

Emmy no longer cared about Descole's vague and distant relation to Layton. All she cared about now was the reason why he stalked them everywhere. She caught an accidental peek at him while investigating a crime scene. There was a puzzle etched out in what appeared to be blood. Layton and Luke stood over the letters and numbers in parallel poses, bouncing theories back and forth. Descole took a sharp look at their visage, normal smirk turning into frown. The mask which obscured his face made it impossible for Emmy to tell which of the two was on the receiving end of his glare, but she didn't trust in the idea that Descole had lines he wouldn't cross. He was desperate to get Layton's attention, and so bodily dragged Luke to stand within Grosky's reach.

"Emmy," the Professor's look was thoroughly unamused. "What on Earth -"

Emmy pointed in Descole's direction, and the man in question blushed comically before slipping away from the crowd.

Layton sighed. "What on earth is he doing here?"

"I don't know, Professor, but I don't like the look he was giving Luke." The two turned their heads to where Luke stood, attempting to argue with the inspector. Whatever line of defence Luke was using wasn't working very well, as Grosky only chortled and patted his behatted head. "I think," Emmy said through gritted teeth, "That it's about time you had a talk with your boyfriend."

Layton flushed, half in anger and half in embarrassment. "Descole is not -"

Emmy didn't listen, huffing off to stand behind Luke. There was, still, some point to what she'd said. Layton would have to talk to him if he wanted all this nonsense to cease. So he started in the direction Descole had fled, following the puzzle pieces the other man had left behind like breadcrumbs for Layton to find. The professor ignored puzzle after hidden puzzle, feeling an immense irritation growing in his stomach at the idea of all those enigmas left behind. He only hoped that they would still be there upon his march back, or that the blasted cat from Misthallery had tailed along with them.

"Descole?" Layton called. The cave in which he now stood was as dark and damp as any he'd ever been in. He reached to the top of his hat, touching a patch of wetness from where rainwater dripped from a stalactite (stalagmite?) onto his hat. He hoped no bats made their abode here, or at the very least that the did not awaken at his call. "Don't you want to know my answer to your puzzles?"

Descole stepped out of the dark at the prompt, hands still hid behind his cape. "I figured you would like them," he replied.

Layton shook his head. "I did not say I enjoyed your puzzles, only that I solved them."

"Would you be here if you did not enjoy our time spent together?"

The frown on Layton's face etched deeper. "Emmy believes you have untoward plans for my apprentice." Descole's manner did not change. "I think she believes you mean to capture him in order to gain my attention, and I'm afraid I must admit I see logic in her fears."

"I've got you here now," Descole said with a wave of his hand. "I no longer have reason to take hold of the boy."

Layton ducked his head. "Indeed, but how do I know you will keep your word?"

Descole made an awkward sort of bow to him, but his expression never wavered. "A gentleman always keeps his word, Hershel!"

Layton shivered at the informal use of his first name, his chest heating up in a pleasurable way. "Good. I hate to think what actions Emmy or I may take, should you break your word."

Descole smiled, wide. "I should be glad for the attention, Hershel."

Layton narrowed his eyes. "What is it you want with me, Jean?" The word felt strange on his tongue, brushing through his teeth with unexpected gravity.

Descole was drawing close to him now, too close. Layton's personal bubble had started to wear down over time with Luke's small but constant touches. The hugs, the grasping of hands, the tugs on his sleeve - they all seemed to be a quiz, leading him up to this test. Descole was now leaning in, close enough for Layton to feel the breath on his cheeks and smell the man's cologne, toothpaste, the wool of his cape. Descole's lips brushed over his own as the man whispered, "I think you know what I want with you."


	2. Chapter 2

It was only the briefest of touches, but it was so incredibly intimate. He was....blushing. His face, pure scarlet, and he could feel the warmth spread from his neck to his chest and further. He covered his mouth with a clenched hand, contemplating what his next move had be. The man who had stood before him vanished, and he sincerely doubted he would be coming back. Descole could be rash at times, but he was not stupid. He wanted Layton's attention, and now he had it. This, the Professor was certain, was going to become a game.

He exited the enclave, mind still lost in thought. Luke ran to him, bursting from Grosky's grasp at the sight. "Professa'! Professa'!" He wound his hands around Layton's middle, jarring him slightly. Bringing him back to the real world.

Layton placed a hand on the boy's head, the other adjusting the brim of his top hat. "You are safe, Luke, my boy." He can feel Emmy looking at him, not altogether satisfied with his answer. He ignored her glares - what could she possibly want from him? Descole's still-beating heart on a platter? There was only so much he could do. He was not the law and he was not violent. Descole rarely listened to sense, so he would have to take the issue step by step.

Their adventure was wrapped up soon after. Layton was fairly certain that the masked man himself was somehow involved, but there was no discernible proof as such. He wouldn't raise his suspicions, not yet. He knew that is was not the most ethical course to take, but he felt he knew what he was doing - and he denied that it related to the feeling in the pit of his stomach that was an intense rumbling, like a motor car being fired up for a race.

Emmy made no more attempts to bring it up. He doubted her concerns were abated - she probably simply believed there was no more point in raising them. He disliked her lack of faith in him, and was all the more ashamed that it wasn't so misplaced. He found he couldn't always meet her gaze, and that his conscience provided it whenever his mind drifted to his nemesis. He started, at first, telling himself that it was natural. Descole was obsessed with him; it made sense for him to ponder the subject at length. He was there every time the Professor turned around, and he needed an answer as to why. But the pretense faded over time. He had to acknowledge, alone and ashamed, that he was perusing the man's features not just for clues as to his identity - he was enjoying it, aesthetically. 

Not that there was much to see. The mask obscured so much, but he found it...intriguing. And, though it pained him to admit, sexual.

He felt dirty, and all the more tacitly embarrassed that he gained so pleasure from it. Even when he wasn't trying. He tried so hard to shake himself from it, afraid he was becoming a poorer teacher for his lack of focus. But if anybody noticed the difference, no one spoke on it.  Rosetta was persistent as ever, and he almost welcomed her unwelcome advances as a distraction (though Luke, curiously, made himself scarce when she was around). 

Of course, the man in question, in thought, chose to re-introduce himself just as soon as Layton had found his life returning to some semblance of normal. 

There was a new student in his class, one he'd never seen present before even at school functions or in the commons. This wasn't altogether extraordinary - students transferred in and out all the time, and prospective students also peeked in to see what university was like. There was also the little but important detail that Layton taught many early-morning classes - ones that even archaeology students could scarcely muster up the energy to attend.

But this student...this student was different. He didn't seem tired or dreamy or disinterested. He was smirking, at the back of the class. And this, the small crooked smile, was what caught Layton's attention. He continued to teach, but he flickered up to the student at frequent intervals. That the student never looked away, that he must have seen and knew Layton's gaze, was all the more infuriating. That smug look never faded. If Layton's chest didn't feel so light despite the beating, he'd have been tempted to scold the student in the middle of class.

Layton made every attempt to hide his distraction. He made sure to end class a little later than usual. He claimed this was a make-up for his frequent absences, and the class groaned. When they were finally freed, they all jumped to turn in their papers and exit, nearly pushing one another from the door and already bemoaning the poor grades they had yet to receive; all of them, save for the single student in the back.

"I don't think I caught your name, Mister -" Layton held his hand out to shake, heart in his throat and feeling ready to vomit from suspension. 

The student held his hand out, and through the thick eyeglasses that had obscured his features at the back of the class, Layton could make out delecate eyelashes batting, pupils peering coyly at him. "Desmond," he said. His voice was deeper than Layton had been expecting, and much smoother. His hand was warm to the touch, and he trailed a finger along the center of his palm as he shook hands and left the room.

Layton realized then that he had been lying to himself. Watching his hand turn from opened to fisted, he admitted to himself for the first time that this was going to be a very, very big problem.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't indulge in things while Luke was around. He didn't date or drink, and he didn't....pleasure himself either. It felt inappropriate with his young charge in the house. It would have felt odd with Emmy as well, although her presence would have made it easier to cover. The true source of this erotic energy would, regardless of companionship, have to always remain a secret. 

The shower was relatively safe, as long as he made sure to lock the doors and remain silent. He didn't fantasize at first; the images that came, whether he wanted them to or not, felt like an invasion of privacy until he remembered that this was exactly what Descole wanted. What he was doing was betraying the confidences and trust of his students and colleagues in favor of entertaining a bizarre attraction he should have been distancing himself from instead of encouraging.

But no one could reach him in the shower. He could give into the auditory memories of those dulcet tones ringing in his ears as he'd introduced himself in alias last time, the way his lips formed that smug smirk and how he would love to put those lips to better use -

He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a small cry. He was filthy, perverted, and ashamed. He had to see Descole again, no matter how dangerous the idea was. He knew he couldn't trust the other man, but he had become like an itch in Layton's mind, too far out of way to scratch. Layton huffed at himself as he dressed, feeling a blush tinge his cheeks, hoping this new student of his was intending to come to class again today.

But of course, because Layton had been expecting him too, Descole was nowhere to be found. Emmy seemed in high spirits for once as she organized his office between classes. "I haven't seen your boyfriend -" that word sent shivers down his spine, no matter how juvenile the phrase; it was the accompanying implications that made him feel hot under the collar - "in a while," she threw a smile at him over her shoulder. "Finally gave him the boot, did you?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Layton mumbled. He was pretending to be engrossed in a puzzle a student had given him. It was no match for the puzzles he had become accustomed to with Descole, and he found himself disappointed, solving it quickly. He sighed aloud, and had to wave his hand to Emmy's worried look, assure her his sigh meant nothing. He could never, ever let her catch on.

Classes seemed to move on more slowly than usual, although he'd been letting his students go at earlier times each day. There was no point in holding them longer, and most of them seemed as disinterested as he felt - although he doubted it was for the same reasons. He groaned, returning to his stuffy office in the heat of mid-day, feeling frustrated at his own lack of attention as much as his students' and sour at Descole's continued absence. 

Carefully, Layton removed his hat and set it down on his desk, his briefcase following in its place on his chair. He peeled the jacket from his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable and overheated, sweat making his shirt stick to his back. He sighed as he sat down, ass sliding to the edge of the couch. He couldn't be bothered to pull himself back up fully, shirt riding up over his belly button as he slid.

He was blushing again, he knew. But there was no one here to see...

It was as though he had no control over his hands, fingers trailing down over his stomach and tracing the bulge in his trousers. He bit his lip, looking away from himself. When had this happened? This deterioration of his manners and his pride, for one; but when had his body become so aroused? He breathed heavily, eyes drifting down as he unbuttoned his trousers, fingers pushing the zip of his fly down. His boxers were a soft material that did nothing to quell the flame his fingers were feeling as he caressed himself, sighing softly.

He heard the murmur of students outside his door, running from one class to another, and felt a little sobered; this wasn't the appropriate time or place. He hadn't locked his door, anyone could walk in...

And somehow, that only made him throb. He'd never known he felt this sort of...urge before; never known he could feel so aroused at the idea of being caught, but his cock leaked his pants and he moaned softly, reaching down to release himself from his underwear.

He knew he'd have to be quick, but he couldn't make himself move faster. His hand was trembling as he wrapped a hand around his member, stroking upwards, thumb sliding over the tip of his erection. He panted, left hand coming to grip the base of his cock as he stroked again, letting his eyes close...

He could see the other man in his mind, smiling at him in that teasing manner, eyes covered by a mask, then replaced with glasses. "Miss me, Hershel?" the memory asked, moving closer. He could feel the ghost of a breath over his lips and cheek, another hand skating over his erection -

His eyes flew open. This wasn't just a fantasy, this had become real life. A hand clapped over his mouth, trapped in frill as the object of his fantasies loomed over him, soft finger tracing the underside of his cock. And just as in Layton's mind, he was smirking, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "So you did miss me?" He drew back to look at Hershel, staring expectantly. It occurred to Layton that, rhetorical or no, the other man was looking for a response; he nodded, slowly, begrudgingly, and watched as the man sucked one finger into his mouth, pulling it out with a wet popping sound.

Hershel shivered, pre-cum dripping from the slit of cock as his hands slipped, hips bucking at nothing. Descole placed the wet finger near his tip, swirling it around and tracing down his length. 

Layton could no longer move his hands, eyes transfixed by Descole's fingers as they teased him, urging Layton's hands to move ineffectually while he rubbed the length between his fingers. Layton's eyes moved to concentrated on Descole's face, trying to remember the eyes behind the mask when he caught sight of Descole's tongue swiping out, licking his lips. They glistened, wet, and it took Layton no time for his mind to leap to other ideas as he cried softly against the hand still closing his mouth and came, sticky white fluid staining his stomach. 

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily, trying in his mind to think of something to say to his...suitor, if that was indeed what Descole was to him now. He opened his eyes, heart jumping at the realization that somehow, Descole had managed to flee without his knowledge, leaving no trace that he had even been in the room with him. 

Frowning, Layton quickly righted himself, sticking his soft and sated cock back in his pants and zipping his trousers, rummaging around his desk for a napkin. This man was going to be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, as far as writing goes. So if you're following any of my other stuff, expect updates soon. This is a little practice for me, and a little gift for Alex.
> 
> She's such a little shit i love her.
> 
> I might extend this later on, if I get the proper inspiration.


End file.
